


He Who Fights Monsters

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Struggling for survival in purgatory hasn't left Dean a lot of choices in the company he keeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Fights Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Sexual violence (consensual), gore and blood play

Bits of flesh clung to the two foot rib bone clutched in Dean’s calloused hands. He took a step back and reared up the makeshift weapon, standing his ground as the armored beast before him leaned forward to bellow a territorial claim.

Its call rumbled like thunder, shaking through Dean’s body and blowing a wind of putrid breath. The blood-stained mucus splattered over Dean’s grimy, exposed skin. His ears were left ringing and his eyes watering from the stench, but he gritted his teeth and hunkered down, bidding his time for an opening.

The thing looked unstoppable. It was easily three times Dean’s size and had long, locust-like legs rigged with poisonous barbs. Dean had learned about the toxin the hard way. He’d spent a week half-dead hunkered in a hole while the poison from a barb that had pierced his arm clean through assaulted his body.

He’d done his homework since the last time. Everyone had a weakness, that one thing that would bring them to their knees.

With a brutal swing, Dean smashed the salvaged bone against the monster as it reared up, exposing its vulnerable underside, a spot where the armor didn't quite meet. The bone cracked under the stress of impact, but the beast crumpled along with it in a tangle of limbs and a panicked smashing of tattered wings.

Shrieks of protest sounded beyond the tree line. Distorted shapes pushed the boundary of the darkness. Dean called back, the sound savage and guttural, his own territorial claim being made.

He clambered back to the carcass he’d spent the night in for warmth and ripped free another rib, rearing it back in warning at any who might try to challenge him for the kill.

The things threatening from the shadows disappeared back into the tangle of trees as quickly as they’d come. Most had learned to keep their distance. The rest were the bitter flesh that sustained him.

He moved forward to finish off the fallen monster when a sharp jerk of the cord around his neck yanked him back. A spasm sent the beast’s barbed leg down like a dart, impaling the ground where Dean had been standing only a second earlier.

Any call for thank you was lost when the grip clutching the leather cord only twisted tighter. It dug into his skin and cut off his windpipe. Dean drew his elbow back, smashing it into the face of the thing behind him.

The pressure released with a chuckle, dark as the sunless sky. “That’s some damn sloppy hunting there, Dean.”

Gordon’s smug voice grated his ears. Dean rubbed the ache from his throat and turned on his heals to throw another bruising punch into Gordon’s shoulder for good measure.

“Bite me, Gordy,” Dean spat.

Another laugh was followed by a flash of jagged, white teeth. Dean silently took back every gripe he’d ever had about Sam’s company.

He pulled the loop of cord over his head. The worn lace was all that was left of his boots. The constant dampness of the swamp waters had rotted the leather. He’d salvaged the laces because the rest of his clothing hadn’t faired any better. With nothing to wear, he was short pockets when he was more in need of weapons than ever.

The likes of Gordon qualified as a valuable ally here in a place where the blows just kept coming. He’d make the son of a bitch his next meal if Gordon hadn’t already saved his life more times than actually made sense.

Dean swung the leather lace in his hand. A stone-carved dagger was tied to it. He’d chipped it from a rock that Sam probably would’ve known the name of. All Dean knew was that when it was chipped, the shiny, black rock had edges sharp as glass and stronger than steel.

He shoved past Gordon, but was mindful of the fallen monster’s limbs, this time, giving them a wide berth as he moved around to the thing’s head. Dean threw a leg over his quarry’s shoulder, having to mount it like a horse to get at the giant’s throat.

He forced the sharpened rock through thick, leathery skin. His aching muscles strained with the effort of cutting through the layers of flesh. The ragged cut spurted blood so deeply red it was nearly black. It coated his arm and splattered his bare chest, mingling with the dried, crusted layers of from other hunts. He didn’t even remember what his skin used to look like.

This place was always damp, but it never rained and the things in the water were worse than the ones on land. Bath time was out of the question and the blood disguised his scent anyway, or so Gordon said.

“I told you to wait,” Gordon chastised.

“Excuse me if I don’t exactly trust the bastard who tried to eat me before he spent years in purgatory.” Dean hopped off the beast and wiped the blood from his brow. “Next time you play bait and you can sit there as long as you like. Hell, I’d be happy to feed you to one of those things myself.”

The thought of eating rumbled Dean’s stomach despite the wretched smell of his captured prey. Gordon wouldn’t eat it. He didn’t have to. It was Dean who had to eat for them both.

He was always hungry, even when he gorged himself on spilt blood and raw flesh. The meat was so tough that beating it tender still left him burning more calories chewing than it even took to hunt the damn things. Between the food and the stagnant water, he was sick half the time, but he couldn’t risk a fire, even if there was anything dry enough to burn.

He’d never been hungry in hell. Here, everything was more real than imagined bodies. He couldn’t shift reality like he’d started to be able to in the pit. His physical limitations were intact. He still had to eat and piss. He still had other needs, too.

Adrenaline continued to hum through his veins. His heart beat fast and loud in his chest. Every nerve still tingled with residual energy from the hunt even as his body teetered on the brink of exhaustion.

The blood was still warm, dripping from his skin. His breathing had barely steadied before he was knocked forward. He found himself smashed face first against a tree with Gordon’s cold body pressed hard against him. A chill ran down Dean’s spine.

He clenched his fist and spun on Gordon. At the last second, he ducked a punch that was thrown at his face, letting Gordon’s fist impact the tree full force. His foot kicked out to catch Gordon’s leg and swept around.

Gordon stumbled, but found his footing on the uneven ground of decaying plant matter and half buried bones. He rushed Dean, who braced himself for the impact, but not well enough. Gordon tackled him down, dirt and debris clinging to sticky blood.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean hissed.

Gordon sat up, pinning Dean’s hips with his own. Their balls ground together, slow and hard. Dean bucked to throw him off as bone shards dug into his back.They rolled, grappling for bare skin, slick with dirty sweat and curdling blood. Dean wrestled Gordon down beneath him, their straining cocks sparring to be the first to find entry.

With an inhuman burst of energy, Gordon threw Dean off, knocking him back against the tree trunk hard enough to stun him. He distantly saw Gordon swipe up his dagger, but couldn’t force himself to move.

His body was jerked up and his arms yanked forward. The leather lace was knotted tightly around Dean’s wrists. By the time his eyes could again focus, his arms were bound around the tree’s rugged trunk. The bark rubbed against his chest like sandpaper. He jerked uselessly against the restraint.

A guttural cry tore from his throat as a hard cock, sloppily lubed with blood from his own back, sliced into his unprepared entry. The forceful thrust was brutal enough that he would’ve sworn it was the dagger shoving in if he wasn’t clutching the smooth rock in his fingers. Dean sought out the tearing pain. Relished it for what it helped him forget.

Gordon had won this round because the fucker cheated. He always did.

The air was filled with shrill cries, not as hollow as hell’s chasm, but still the sound of death glossing over the stillness of eternal night. Dean shoved his hips back to meet Gordon’s onslaught, focusing on the slapping of skin beneath the clatter of the things waiting in the dark.

The bark beneath Dean scraped his engorged cock raw. His wrists strained to twist free as the white hot pain coiled heat low in his belly. Every rasping thrust pushed him further past ecstasy into burning desperation.

It served its purpose, keeping him here and now. Before this, he’d spent the hours, cursing being trapped here, unable to protect his brother, or wondering where his angel had once again flitted off to.

He was losing sensation in his fingers by the time Gordon growled, plunging deep enough to crush his balls against Dean’s ass. After another grunt Gordon pulled out as unceremoniously as he’d entered. The slickness left seeping down Dean’s trembling inner thighs was barely noticeable, mingling with sweat and muck.

With a final twist, Dean tore free his hands. He turned on Gordon with the dagger ready. Dean’s knee came up into Gordon’s gut, dropping him to his knees, right where Dean wanted him.

The raw thirst screamed in Gordon’s eyes as he tipped his head up. His tongue danced over jagged teeth, taunting with the reminder of what he was, as if Dean could ever forget.

Dean jutted his hips at Gordon, his leaking cock demanding whatever attention it could find. He braced himself back against the tree as the lapping of a rough tongue sharpened to the scrape of slicing teeth.

The razor sharp tears were shallow, but swelled blood to the surface almost as fast as Gordon could run his tongue up Dean’s length to lap it up. It was a fair trade. Dean had spilt far more blood for far less return here.

His eyes closed once Gordon hid his true teeth for something far more human in appearance. Gordon's tongue worked over Dean’s straining cock, sucking hard with an agonizing slowness, drawing out every drop of rich blood.

Dean didn’t care what kept Gordon on his knees. He welcomed the pain as the only road to pleasure. He gripped Gordon’s head, forcing him to let Dean drive deeper down his throat.

He benefited from the protection Gordon provided, but it was the physical contact he needed. It was Gordon himself, a reminder that the memories of another world were real. His brother was real and Sam was still out there somewhere. 

Dean jerked violently as he came. His muscles went slack and he slumped to the base of the tree. His cheeks were hot against the cool air as he lay back his body sinking slightly into the ground. He sprawling out with his legs splayed.

The coldness soaked into his bones as Gordon crawled to him. A hungry growl rumbled against Dean’s slick thigh as Gordon’s teeth reemerged. Gordon lowered his face into the hollow of Dean’s hip, gouging the razor edges into the scarred flesh of his favorite feeding site.

Dean’s fingers dug into the ground as the pain burned through his leg. It was dulled by the buzz of endorphins still pushing through him. He tipped his head back, squeezing his eyes closed. Cackling cries echoed in the distance. He was sure it was laughter.

He kept the dagger clutched in his hand, knowing some day, Gordon wouldn’t stop. Sooner or later, one of them would slip, but for tonight, Gordon was the closet thing to humanity Dean had to latch on to.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Тот, кто сражается с монстрами](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3607341) by [Tinnory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinnory/pseuds/Tinnory)




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